


The Wild One

by Keep_Calm_And_Expecto_Patronum



Category: Celtic Mythology
Genre: Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Home, Kelpies, Prose Poem, scots, zoomorphism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:14:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26911984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keep_Calm_And_Expecto_Patronum/pseuds/Keep_Calm_And_Expecto_Patronum
Summary: I applied the literary technique zoomorphism (animal attributes are imposed upon non-animal objects, humans, and events) to a piece of prose poetry. It's a self-reflective piece and I thought that it would be fun to share.





	The Wild One

A was born through water and grew on dry land, but a could nivver quite find ma feet. Clumsy and uncertain like a newborn foal, I’ve stumbled ma wye through life unsure of maself and ma place in the world. But fresh waters run in ma veins like the rivers an corries a swam in as a bairn. A should hiv been left by a loch. I’ve always been a solitary craiture, glad in ma ain company, with ma heid turned towards the water. 

Ma mither telt me that a had an equine spirit: stubborn, stoic, strong. Traits quite unlike her ain, she said, ones that a had inherited from a faither in name alone. To her, a wisnae the dother she wintit or expected; a was a changeling that looked, spoke, loved like any normal human bairn would, but somehow, it was as though a wirnae hers. A merely took the outward appearance of a human figure called I. Ma mither’s dother was somewhere else and a had taken her place. A was The Wild One. 

As a bairn, a lived near a loch. A liked tae visit it often because it felt mare like hame than hame. I’d peer into the welcoming water which shone like a molten mirror, pale silver beneath the smoky sky. A would see ma ain reflection and a stranger would stare back at me: a skinny runt of a hing, buck-toothed and bulrush-maned with protuberant, searching eyes. Was it normal to feel so unknown to maself? If a were to pick away at ma flesh, a half-expected to find a shiny black pelt beneath someone else’s skin. 

A hoped in time that a would grow intae ma skin and become a dark-haired maiden balanced on a steen. But as a touched the icy caul surface of the water, the image rippled and twisted, contorting ma face into something else entirely, something unrecognisable. A maleficent entity. A Pictish Beast. A craiture of unfair reputation to be hated, rebuked, and feared. A see how others see me—as something to be conquered and broken. But ma mither was right about one thing—the equine spirit cannae be broken. It endures.

A go to the sea far from home just to feel at hame. A like to close ma eyes and pretend, paddle in the water up tae ma knees, breathe in the salty air and listen to the static white noise of the water crashing together as gentle waves lick at ma taes. Although it gives me a sense of hame, I ken that it isnae. The smell isnae right: it’s stale fin it should be peat and moss and rich soil after onding. The water isnae sweet enough; it leaves a chalky residue on the roof of ma mooie. The sound isnae right either; the water here crashes fin it should be a muted whisper ben a thicket of trees. It’s a reproduction of the real hing. A poor imitation. 

But I dinnae have a hame tae go back tae, so I will hiv tae find it within maself. A wade intae the saltwater and let the tide envelop me, closer than ma ain skin. A move wae greater ease aneth the waves than a bird flies in the air; with fluid, formless arms a slip beneath the current, the water enveloping ma body like a welcome hug. Here, a feel weightless from the burdens of ma life. I’ve finally found ma feet in the form of hooves and fins as a sink aneith the surface.


End file.
